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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480041">One Single Thread</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremymariah_carey/pseuds/youremymariah_carey'>youremymariah_carey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Baseball, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Married Life, Mostly fluff though, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, one single thread of gold tied me to you, vulnerable david rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:15:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremymariah_carey/pseuds/youremymariah_carey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of lovers, broken hearts, and exes who didn’t truly care for him. David has seen the ugly side of love and one-sided relationships, but this is him realizing that amid all that hurt and pain, there was a string. One single thread of gold tying him to Patrick. Call it fate, call it destiny, but if David looked closely, there were clues... and they all led to Patrick.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Sebastien Raine/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One Single Thread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David woke with a start. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. The room was dark, the sound of his breathing loud against the quiet. His arm reaches out reflexively, his hand searching, meeting only cool air, rumpled sheets, and an empty space beside him. David closes his eyes, his breathing harsh and ragged as he bunches the sheets beneath his palms. Screwing his eyes tighter, he hones in on this feeling: the coolness of the sheets, the softness of the fabric in his hand. He knows that focusing on something tangible is a way for him to get a grip on reality. Helping to steady himself during the waves of panic that overflow his brain during the onset of a panic attack, but it’s not enough. Not tonight. He wills himself to slow down his frantic heart, to remember the way Patrick held him close before he drifted off to sleep. His face tucked perfectly into Patrick’s neck, his leg slotted between Patrick’s, pulling their bodies flush together until all he could feel was Patrick. Until all he could smell, as he was wrapped completely in Patrick, was cedarwood and campfires. The woodsy smell of a childhood he wished he lived and the hikes his husband used to go on. He tries to tell himself Patrick is probably just peeing or getting some fresh air or a midnight snack. He tries to tell himself <em>anything</em> to overshadow the nagging thought that always fills David’s mind when he’s most vulnerable: he left for good, just like David always knew he would.
But those excuses don’t work, his heart is pounding too fast and his breathing is too loud and he’s alone and Patrick isn’t here...Patrick isn’t here...<em>Patrick isn’t here.</em></p><p>And so, he lays there, eyes shut, arm outstretched still, sheets gathered in his fingers, legs wrapped up in their quilt and begins to cry. Hot, wet tears sliding down his face. He thinks back to all the times it’s been just like this. In New York, in another bed, with another man. After the millionth time he let Sebastien back into his life. Sebastien coming in, door banging loud behind him, wild hair and all his cardigans. His eyes raking down David’s body as if he were just another possession, another conquest, taking his pleasure, and leaving David aching and bruised, hurt after another night of being completely disregarded. David’s well-being and pleasure always an afterthought. </p><p>A specific memory comes back to him then. He’s been here before, his subconscious dragging him back to this spot, to a time he’d like nothing more than to forget. It’s always here, his mind a cruel enemy when he’s most vulnerable. He sees himself, naked, on all fours, knees bruised, eyes closed, Sebastien behind him. The memory brings back despair, desperation, self-loathing, and loneliness as he watches himself through the lens of an observer. Helpless to do anything other than watch the pain inflicted time after time. Unable to scream and yell to himself that there is more than <em>this</em> out there for him. That one day there will be love and kindness even <em>during</em> sex. That there’s a man who will kiss away your tears and prioritize your needs. But he says none of this, cursed to silence, resigned to watch the scene play as it always does. But this time, the memory keeps moving, not centering on the scene as it normally does. The shift is gradual, the lens refocusing, widening. The harsh sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room is a distant sound, the stickiness and discomfort an afterthought. This time, as the scene gets larger, David and Sebastien disappearing into the background, their clothes strewn messily on the floor forgotten, he hears the TV. The image is blurry, his subconscious dusting off the memory slowly, focusing in on a different aspect this time, a welcome reprieve that David is thankful for. Slowly, the TV comes into focus, the sound which was a mere background noise before is heard with clarity.</p><p>It’s a baseball game.</p><p>Playing on the TV in Sebastien Raine’s New York apartment is a baseball game and while that sounds ridiculous, it’s true. David can still hear the grunts of a man taking his claim but the only thing that matters right now is this game, or more importantly what this baseball game means now. The crowd is cheering loudly, the thwap of a baseball being hit and the announcer's voice chiming loudly over the crowd. Back in his room, with sweat dampening his shirt, David’s struck by the comfort that he begins to feel, the claws that were squeezing his heart begin to relax. Instantly, the memory shifts again. He’s no longer with Sebastien in that dingy New York apartment. The smell of weed and sex which was so stifling a second ago is fleeting. Instead, he looks and sees himself seated on a bed. A small twin bed, in a motel room. The smell of pizza is pungent and when he looks, a thin slice of pepperoni is in his hand. Patrick is beside him, leaning against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of him, his arms folded, one hand cradling a Man's Best beer. The scene is very domestic: Patrick with his shoes off, watching a game with his soon-to-be-husband. There's a sense of comfort here, David with one hand holding his pizza, the other softly caressing Patrick’s leg. Patrick’s eyes are on the television, watching his favorite team, but David can’t keep his eyes off him. The announcer's voice is rising in the background and Patrick lets out a whoop, his excitement evident on his face. His short brown curls obscured in a baseball hat, his tee snug around his body. Never in his life would David have thought he’d be here, watching <em>baseball </em>with his <em>fiancé. </em></p><p>It's only Patrick he thinks of now when he thinks of baseball.</p><p><em>“Battin a thousand here, David.”</em><br/>
<em>“I threw you a bit of a change-up there, huh?”</em></p><p>These phrases that David didn’t know then on that first meeting have become dear to him. Not because he knows what they mean, <em>god no</em>, he would still rather do anything else than play another game of baseball no matter how well he did last time. No, it’s become dear to him because of what it represents now. It’s no longer another divisive team sport that symbolizes the problem with our political climate that divides us up even more than we already are.</p><p>No, it symbolizes Patrick. </p><p>His goodness, his love, his faithfulness.</p><p>David thinks back on the memory with Sebastian and wonders, as his pulse slows, whether Sebastien was even into baseball and why, of all things to be playing, a game was on. David thinks, as his breathing regulates itself, <em>was that a sign? A clue? All foreshadowing him meeting Patrick</em>, <em>a man who loves baseball, who encourages him and loves him. </em>That memory, which was saturated in regret, now, brings hope. Hope in knowing that something good was coming. Someone good was on their way and yes, it would take a few more years, an embezzling business manager, and a general store to meet this someone but it was worth it. It was always worth it. All the pain and the heartache because it led to this.</p><p>Instantly, as if a switch has been turned off, David can hear noises outside of himself again. His palms are no longer sweaty and his breathing returns to its normal pace. As the signs of a panic attack recede, he thinks about Twyla and her tarot cards. He’s not sure if he believes in signs or strings, or fate, or destiny, but what he believes in for sure is that this was where he was always meant to be. Right here. A creak in the floorboard jolts David out of his thoughts and he opens his eyes again, his vision slowly adjusting until he can make out Patrick’s figure in the dark.
</p><p>“Sorry babe I had to pee, didn’t mean to wake you, go back to sleep!” Patrick whispers as he climbs back into bed. The sheets lift and a gust of cold air reaches David, and he shivers. Patrick, ever observant and attuned to David, shifts, pulling the blanket over himself, effectively stopping the draft. He rolls to his side, catching David’s hand still clenched to the sheets and pulls him close. David sighs, content, relaxing as he presses his face against Patrick’s throat, his pulse thrumming steadily under his skin. David breathes in deeply, willing his heart to match the steady pace of Patrick’s, to sync up until they’re one. Patrick’s hand comes up, threading softly into David’s hair, his mouth close to his ear.
</p><p>“Hey, you okay?” He whispers, fingers tracing patterns on David’s scalp. David breathes in and then exhales, letting it all go. Every worry, every pain, every heartache. 
</p><p>“I am now.” He whispers into Patrick’s neck, his breath ghosting across his skin. Patrick nods and his breathing deepens. The last thought David has before settling into sleep again, tucked protectively into Patrick’s embrace, is of that single thread. The clues that if he looked closely, all led to this moment. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you guys for reading! I usually spend a lot more time thinking and writing but I just had to post this and I wrote it in a few hours so here it is! I hope everyone had a great New Years!! Here's to a hopefully great 2021!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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